Ok, so I got malaria.

In my last blog I discussed the never-ending struggle against the mosquito and the onslaught of sickness. I joked about an upset stomach, my blistered lips, a head cold. What I thought was perhaps a sun related headache or a dodgy food problem was, in fact, the onset of malaria.

For those of you who have not suffered from this disease, it is not pleasant. It came to a head on Thursday. I went to work with a sore head and a lack of energy which I attributed to a slight hangover after Mamas the previous evening. Such was my lethargy and sickness that I was forced to go home early, falling into my bed in a dizzy sweat. Then the fun began.

Chills, hallucinations, vomiting, headaches, muscle pains, weakness. You name the symptom. I had it. My host mother phoned Gifty, a nurse in my village who had helped me on my induction day. Gifty came round that night and felt my temperature. “Oh, we must go to hospital now. It is too long til morning”. No problem Gifty. Let’s go.

The guy beside me in the treatment room had been bitten by a snake. The doctors were discussing which anti-venom to administer as the man had been unable to tell what type of snake had bitten him before it slithered away. I waited uselessly beside him.

My mind turned to my tour of Cape Coast Castle the previous week, when the guide had mentioned how in colonial times the Europeans were permitted only by their rulers at home to stay in Africa for very short periods due to the very many potential illnesses to which they were susceptible. Ghana had earned the nickname ‘White Man’s Grave’. Snakeman looked over at me. I pathetically returned the glance.

One still very painful anti-malarial injection in the ass and a plethora of tablets later and I am on the mend. The one question I forced myself to ask at the pretty basic hospital in Mampong, being the worried obruni: ‘The needles are clean, right?’

It was not all bad news this week. On Tuesday, before I was struck down by the malarial fever, I visited the orphanage at Tin Kong, between Adawso and Koforidua where a lot of the volunteers are based, either teaching or looking after the orphans. Myself and Mhairi played some music - jigs, reels, polkas and some Irish songs, although ‘jingle bells’ seemed to get the best reception of the day. I did not think that they would be interested in the music, but they sat completely fixated while we played; perhaps down to the fact that they had never seen a violin or guitar before; or perhaps because the traditional music we were playing was so alien to them.

We plan to go out again to the orphanage next week, but are going to arm ourselves with more children’s songs.